


The Things We Lose

by Butyoucancallmemeg



Category: Leverage, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Twins, Brothers, Crossover, Gen, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7634113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butyoucancallmemeg/pseuds/Butyoucancallmemeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot can’t stop thinking about the kid he met down in that mine - Cory. He’s young, his whole life ahead of him, and he’s going to spend it in a town that’s too small for his big, smart head. He spins an empty shot glass distractedly with one hand, thinking about being eighteen and making big, life-changing decisions - like joining the army right out of high school. Like leaving behind a shitty father, a shitty town, but also a brother who’s really older by about ten minutes - who was still always the little one, somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Lose

**Author's Note:**

> This was a coda to Season 3, Episode 10 of Leverage (The Underground Job) that spun out on its own. I apologize in advance for the abrupt ending, but this rattled around in my head for too long for me not to put it up somewhere.  
> -  
> "The things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect." - J.K. Rowling

Eliot is settled on one of the stools in McRory’s, lost in thought. It’s late. The job is over. Blackwell and Attorney General Pierce are both in custody, and Blackwell’s mine is safely in the hands of the client, Troy Rollins. They got in from West Virginia a few hours ago, the rest of the team has dispersed, each going back to their respective corners of the world - wherever those may be. It might be weird that none of them have seen any of the others’ home base except Nate’s, but they’re thieves. There’s a lot that they don’t know about each other.

(There’s a lot that they do, too. Hardison has his old foster mom, his Nana, who took in more kids than she could ostensibly afford because she knew the system, and what it did. Parker has Archie, the father figure to replace all the shitty ones that came before him. Before, Nate had Maggie and Sam, a whole perfect little family.)

Eliot can’t stop thinking about the kid he met down in that mine - Cory. He’s young, his whole life ahead of him, and he’s going to spend it in a town that’s too small for his big, smart head, doing the job because his dad did it, because his dad did it before that. He dropped out of high school for that mining job - at eighteen, he was shackling himself to East Jesus Nowhere, West Virginia for the rest of his life.

He spins an empty shot glass distractedly with one hand, thinking about being eighteen and making big, life-changing decisions - like joining the army right out of high school. Like leaving behind a shitty father, a shitty town, but also a brother who’s really older by about ten minutes - who was still always the little one. 

Part of him wonders what home looks like these days - if Jake’s still there, working the oil rig with their father and pretending it’s not killing him inside. Eliot thinks about long-ago Christmases, and  Jake’s face lighting up at a stack of shabby second-hand books bound up with a ribbon but no paper, then falling a little at his father’s gift, a toolbox.

He doesn’t think about growing up much - even less does he think about the good parts of it. Their father, quick with his belt and the back of his hand, was not a good part. Jake was, though. He was the brains to Eliot’s brawn, though Eliot knows he’s by no means unintelligent. Jake was always a little smaller, and less rough-and-tumble than Eliot was. Eliot wrestled, boxed, rode horseback. Jake was on the football team, sure, but he never enjoyed it the way Eliot would. He came home after practices looking world-weary, then pasted on a grin for their dad, and retreat to their room to read.

Nate slides behind the bar and braces both his hands on the smooth wood.

“It’s late,” he observes, thoroughly unsurprised by Eliot’s presence. Eliot doesn’t look up from the glass.

Nate pours himself a shot of something and tosses it back.

“Cory will be alright,” Nate tells Eliot earnestly. Eliot sets the glass down a bit too hard, and it makes a sharp noise against the bar. Nate means to be reassuring, but Eliot isn’t one for empty consolations.

“Sure he will,” Eliot agrees, voice low, “He’s smart as hell.” That’s the problem. Nate tilts his head forward, waiting for Eliot to give something away. Eliot has seen him do this to marks, wait them out with that look on his face. The crinkle at his eyes is a little more real, though, a little softer. Eliot sighs.

“Straight-A high school dropout, workin’ the same job as his old man.”

 Nate raises a brow. “You think he’s wasting his potential,” he surmises. Eliot doesn’t answer, instead says, “He’s not gonna like it. Not for long.” He picks up Nate’s bottle of whiskey, pours himself a shot, and says into the contents, “Head’s too big for a place like that.”

Nate might be giving him one of his appraising, "Now I Understand" looks, but Eliot doesn't look up to check, just tosses back the drink and stands, walking out without looking behind him.

**Two years later**

Parker lifts a tray of champagne flutes deftly above her head as she maneuvers her way between cloth-covered high-top tables, scanning the ballroom for her mark. When she lowers it again, a laughing woman in a flashy red dress swipes a glass from the tray. Her eyes pass over Parker's face without even registering her. Parker has always found it amusing, the way a white waitstaff shirt and a cheap bowtie can render a person functionally invisible in a crowd.

She brushes past a man in a very tailored suit, sliding two fingers into his pockets as she does. He doesn't even look up as she passes, sliding a cell phone into her front left pocket, next to the fancy hacker phone Hardison gave her.

"Phone number four," Parker mutters, a smirk sliding onto her face as she slides a wallet into the empty pocket on her other side. In the van, Hardison only has to press a few keys to start copying the stolen phone's calendar, messaging and photos into his drives. A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Alright mama, you've got about twenty minutes to kill before the Kendalls are expecting you," Hardison reaches his hands up as high as he can, considering that he's in the van, and leans back in his chair, stretching like a cat after a nap. "This is gonna be _cake_."

Eliot, beside him, stops bouncing his knee and cuts a hard glance to Hardison. There isn't much need for a hitter at this point in the con, and Parker has the gala well and truly covered, but Eliot insisted on being there.

He hasn't stopped fidgeting all evening, but no one is faulting him for being cautious, especially since the team has been down two members for only a few months.

"Hey," he says, "don't get cocky." Hardison sits up straight again, pulling his shirt down from where it rode up his stomach. Eliot follows the motion with his eyes, but doesn't back down. Hardison raises an eyebrow.

"And I suppose you want me to knock on wood or something," Hardison rejoins, his voice lacking heat, "just in case I-"

"Eliot?" Parker's voice cuts over the comms, sharp and startled. Eliot doesn't look away from Hardison, mouth thinning into a flat line, jaw tightening.

"What, Parker?" His voice is the sort of even and relaxed that immediately precedes a fight – the calm before Eliot's storm. Hardison goes back to his monitors, pulling up security feeds.

"Where are you?" Parker demands, "Did you come inside?"

Hardison frowns over at Eliot, looking for answers. Eliot gives a minute shake of his head in response, and says, "I'm in the van with Hardison. You need me?"

Hardison is already fluffing up an FBI alias for Eliot so he can get in the door when Parker comes back with, "No. Nevermind."

Eliot settles a little deeper into his seat, but he doesn’t start fidgeting again.

Parker watches, startled and disoriented, as the man who arrested her attention escapes from view. His hair is cropped short, rather than cascading past his chin like Eliot's does, but Parker didn't even register the difference when she caught sight of his face – Eliot's face. Parker has near-perfect recollection of faces, a skill which she's put to use more than a few times for the sake of a con. She's never made a mistake like that.

Forcing herself not to follow the Eliot Doppelganger, Parker instead strolls up to a raven-haired man standing alone beside one of the cocktail tables. His back is to her, posture relaxed as he taps idly at his cell phone. He's picked the perfect surveillance position, though he doesn't seem to be paying a lick of attention to his surroundings. Both main entrances would be visible without turning his head, if only he would look up from his cell phone.

The hand not clutching the phone was stuffed into his pocket, and partially visible in the gap between pocket-seam and shirtsleeve was a far-too-expensive-looking watch. She sidles up to the table, both to take advantage of the view and to take advantage of his distraction.

"Champagne?" She offers, keeping her voice light and polite.

He doesn’t startle at the sound of her voice. Instead, he turns, sliding his phone up his sleeve and reaching out to take a flute in one quick, fluid motion. His eyes light with recognition at the same time that Parker swallows down her own surprise.

She has a split second to hope that maybe he won’t be able to place her face before she hears, “Parker?”

His Australian accent almost makes her name into a new one, but it is, unmistakably, hers. It makes her think of Sophie, the way her mouth didn’t quite curl around the R’s of her name, making it sound somehow more elegant.

“Parker?” Hardison echoes, suddenly on high alert. Eliot is on his feet instantly, slamming the rear doors of the van open and jumping out, ready to extract Parker at a second's notice.

"Did you just get made?" Eliot demands, hand coming up to press his comm further into his ear, "What's going on in there?"

“Ezekiel Jones,” She says, even-keeled, because she knows there won’t be any wriggling out of this with a simple “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.”

Eliot stays where he is, letting Lucille's doors close behind him, but making no move toward the hotel.

“Parker?”

When Eliot says her name this time, it’s not full of alarm like it was when Hardison said it. It’s soft - curious enough to count as a question, but mostly a reminder that he’s there, that she’s got a team. He knows she can handle herself, but if she needs backup, he’s right outside.

Parker is careful not to acknowledge her partners in her ear, already forming and adjusting plans in her head. For all that Ezekiel was once an ally - a partner, even - Parker knows all too well what years apart can do to a person, and it’s been far too long since she saw him to trust him as implicitly as she once did - or even at all. She’d prefer to keep an ace up her sleeve for as long as she can. For all Ezekiel should know, Parker still works alone.

"Code words, Parker," Eliot reminds her lowly. Hardison, probably in an idle five minutes between World of Warcraft raids and hacking MI6 for fun, composed a list of code words to be used over coms when one of them was on the grift, or couldn't talk freely. To Nate, it would have been superfluous. Eliot himself was initially skeptical about how useful they would be, but already they proved effective.

"Damn right, code words," Hardison agrees, voice full of vindication, "I told y'all."

Ezekiel had seemed older from behind, but now that Parker can see him his face is boyish, full of mischief even as he frowns in confusion. It fades quickly, however, sliding into a delighted smirk. “You grew up well,” he says smoothly, taking a sip from his glass of champagne. Parker knows better, even after this long, than to take his flirtation seriously.

“You didn’t grow up at all,” Parker remarks. The tone of her voice should assuage her boys’ concerns. Ezekiel, seemingly running off the same instincts as she is, doesn't take her comment for a backhanded insult, but rather smiles jovially. She grins, glad that he remembers her enough to understand. He rises up on his tiptoes, an anachronism in his tailored suit, grinning like a little boy.

“I got a little taller,” he objects playfully. They’re still fully capable of speaking the same language, even if his accent is a lot more pronounced than it was when he was young - when he was trying to blend in. Parker's proverbial hackles fall.

"Alright," Hardison cuts through her thoughts. "I'm going to run the name Ezekiel Jones," He announces.

"No," Parker says, a beat too quick and sharp to be directed solely at Ezekiel. Hardison lifts his hands from the keyboard and straightens.

"No?" he repeats, "Why not?"

Parker doesn't acknowledge, covering her mistake roughly with, "You truly didn't."

'Truly' is one of their watchwords – Hardison had been clever to pick words that none of them used regularly, but that could easily replace the ones they did. It meant 'stand by, I might need an assist'.

"I've heard of him," Eliot chimes in. At the use of the code word, he started moving for the front doors, heedless of the fact that he would have no way of getting into the gala once he got inside.  "He's a thief, like Parker."

Ezekiel shrugs easily, "Has it been too long for me to ask what you're here for? I don't want to step on your toes."

Parker tilts her head, both to consider him and to wait for the go-ahead. She doesn't have to wait long. Eliot's voice comes first.

"You're on point, kid," he says earnestly, "I'll follow your lead." The sentiment is true to a degree that Eliot doesn't particularly want to dwell on, his own words coming back to him as he positions himself at the side of the building, out of sight, but ready at the first sign of danger.

_'Til my dying day._

"It's your call, baby," Hardison echoes from the van. He pulls up the security camera feed for the ballroom

Ezekiel has always been softer than Parker, more emotional, less detached. It made him a better liar, but it also made him loyal to a fault. She regards him carefully, superimposing over this posh-looking man the twerp that used to run with her when they were young. This one is settled, and clearly happier, but no harder at the edges.

"I'm not boosting anything here, actually," Parker reveals finally, to Ezekiel's visible surprise, "I'm running a con."

Ezekiel shifts on his feet and looks Parker up and down as if he's seeing her in a new light. He leans into the conversation more, and Sophie's voice in the back of Parker's mind is telling her he's on the hook, for all that this conversation isn't actually a con.

"I heard a rumor you were on a crew," Ezekiel commented, fishing unashamedly for more details. The twist of his head is aborted, like he wants to scan the crowd for the rest of her crew now that he knows she has one, then thinks better of it. Good.

"A lot of rumors, actually. Never paid 'em much attention, though, 'cause I didn't think you'd ever be a team player."

Parker gives him what she hopes is an enigmatic smile, "Maybe you should have paid better attention," She replies. It seems to work, because Ezekiel gets a challenging smile on his face, like he's just discovered a new puzzle to solve, or a case to crack. ''

"I guess I should've," he agrees thoughtfully, leaning back on his heels, "Especially considering -"

He cuts off, a blonde woman in a slinky black dress catching his arm, and Parker realizes he’s not the lone wolf he once was either. She’s tall, authoritative, and packing heat in her beaded handbag. Parker takes a quick step back, straightening his shoulders, shedding her familiarity like a snake does skin. Ezekiel watches it happen curiously, and doesn’t take his eyes off of her even as he greets the woman with a questioning “Eve?”

Parker tries not to startle visibly when Eliot swears in her ear. The woman – Eve – leans in close to whisper in Ezekiel's ear. Parker tilts her non-earbudded ear closer to them, to no avail.

"Guys," Eliot says after a moment, with only the barest edge of urgency, "I've got company out here."

"Company?" Hardison repeats, halfway to frantic already, "What do you mean, 'company'? We ain't even made contact with the mark yet."

“The ex-military kind of company,” Eliot replies, cracking his neck. There are three men, approaching in loose formation, in dark slacks and black button-down shirts - far too nice for them to expect him to put up much of a fight. Maybe they're just rich enough for it not to matter. Private security, then, Eliot assumes. The way they exchange looks, they spent time together before.

Eliot hasn’t punched anyone in about two weeks, so he’s itching for it, but not enough to push the encounter from standoff to violent confrontation if he doesn’t have to.

“Librarian,” The tallest man growls, fists clenching at his sides in apparent anger. Eliot, though he pauses long enough to reply, “The fuck?” and frown in confusion, doesn’t open himself up to attack. Thug number two takes the first swing, anyways, and it no longer matters, because Eliot is just grinning and diving into the fray.

"Can someone tell me what the fuck is goin' on?" Hardison asks, in a voice reedy with panic. Eliot doesn't respond, but the sounds of fists making contact with skin give him an idea why that is. He wracks his brain for any way the con could have gone tits-up before the mark even knew their faces, breaking down the details in his head until it's spinning.

"Guys," Hardison manages, breathless, panicking.

Parker shifts abruptly from irritated at Ezekiel and Eve's whispers to thankful that they are too involved in their conversation to notice the way Parker jerks her head up at the sound, patting unnecessarily at her hair so she'll have the cover to reply.

"Hardison!" she says sharply, cutting across the sound of his quiet panic with three simple syllables. Hardison pulls his hands away from the keyboard, and places them on his knees, taking a breath and letting his eyes drop closed for just a second.

"Zoom out," Parker says, softer, but still commanding, "Work _this_ problem. We haven't made contact with Kendall yet. He's got no reason to have goons."

Hardison's eyes snap open. "They're not his men," He says, immediately.

Eliot's heavy breathing gives way to a grunt and a cough, then, "Done."

In her mind's eye, she can picture Eliot breathing hard, leaning against the façade of the hotel, catching his breath and cataloguing bruises.

"Find out what you can," Parker says, turning back to Ezekiel and Eve. Eve must catch the end of her sentence because she narrows her eyes at the hand that Parker is still hovering by her hair. Parker, to her credit, adjusts the strand of hair beside her ear again to cover the motion, but Eve's keen eyes don't waver.

"I'll search 'em." Eliot says, and Hardison gives his affirmative, and Parker lets them fade into the buzzing background.

"Earpiece," Eve observes, keeping her voice light, "nice." Parker tenses. Ezekiel throws a look of surprise in Eve's direction. Eve doesn't say anything else immediately, but subtly takes stock of Parker standing before her, as if assessing a threat.

"Jones?" she prompts, finally, looking between them. Her eyes are sharp, analytical. She stands like she has power. Military?

"Parker here is an old friend of mine," Ezekiel tells Eve, giving her a shit-eating sort of grin. Eve and Parker both stiffen, probably at the mention of her name. Honestly, what right does Ezekiel think he has to go around dropping her name?

"Parker?" she repeats, covering whatever surprise she may have with a polite curiosity. When she reaches out a hand, it's with far more trepidation than Parker would expect from a fellow thief. Parker raises both eyebrows at Ezekiel, trying to convey as much as she can in a single look, but accepts the handshake.

"What are you here for?" Parker asks, her voice a bit icier than before, "Quid pro quo and all that."

Ezekiel leans in close, in a sudden display of discretion, and opens his mouth to speak, before Eve snakes a hand around his arm and bodily drags him back. Parker and Ezekiel both look sharply to her, but she crosses her arms, unrepentant.

"Right," she bites, voice hard with sarcasm, "Honor among thieves, I suppose?" She crosses her arms.

"Look," Parker grits out, and it's all for show, but she has Eve's full attention. She steps in closer, invading Eve's personal space and lowering her voice. Eliot and Nate never have to try hard when they want to look threatening, so she does her best to channel them when she speaks next.

"I've got a man outside who just caught heat from _three_ hired men. I know _we_ didn't do anything to tip off _our_ mark," she lets that hang there for a second, "If my man got hurt because _you_ slipped up, we will not be kind."

When she pulls away, Ezekiel raises a single eyebrow at her, and the corner of his lip twitches with an impressed smile. Eve presses her lips together, but nods tightly.

"Okay, that was hot," Hardison breathes. Then, a little louder, "Nothing yet, I'm running financials on people at the party, but there are a lot of them, so if you've got anything, Eliot …"

Eliot finishes his pat-down of the last thug, pocketing three wallets, a flip-phone, and a shiny silver switchblade, before starting back to the van at a leisurely pace. When he opens the doors to the van, Hardison looks up immediately from his monitors to look him over. Eliot just stands for a moment, indulging Hardison as he takes in the bruise that's already starting to form on Eliot's neck.

It was reasonable for Eliot to assume that he would be tightening up his game when Nate and Sophie left, and he was comfortable with that – he knew his role, he'd keep Hardison and Parker safe, pay more attention, work a little faster, a little harder. He keeps his promises, and this one – this one might be the most important promise.

What Eliot hadn't been expecting was for Parker and Hardison to do the same. Obviously, they aren't doing his job for him, but they pay closer attention now. It's subtle, and different for each of them (because for all that Parker and Hardison may love each other, they are by no means the same) but it's there.

Neither says anything, but Eliot can tell when Hardison's satisfied, because he seems to release tension from his shoulders once he deems Eliot okay. He sits again.

"I haven't looked through these wallets, but hopefully there's ID, and one of 'em had a phone on him. Old one, too, probably a burner, but maybe you can pull something from it."

He tosses Hardison the phone, and Hardison catches it, flipping it open immediately. They work in silence for only a second before the sound of Parker's breath hissing in audibly makes both of them look immediately up, locking eyes.

"Eliot?" It’s the second time tonight that Parker has said his name like that, but this time there's a note of confusion, a hint of panic. Eliot barks out her name, but for a moment she doesn't say anything else.

Parker freezes when she sees the man approach – it's the man from earlier, the one she had mistaken for Eliot. Both Ezekiel and Eve frown at the outburst, but she doesn't care.

"That's impossible," Parker breathes, because it _is_ Eliot. But Eliot is in her ear, asking what's going on, and this Eliot has short hair and is standing right in front of her.

He says, oblivious to her, "Can you break into the vault? Cassandra's plan isn't panning out."

He's facing Ezekiel, only the barest indicator of stress seeping into his tone. Parker thinks maybe she should feel insulted, being disregarded like that, but she gets the impression that it's not that she isn't a threat so much as this man is woefully unaware of his surroundings.

 He's not Eliot, clearly. His stance is wrong and his shoulders are less bulky in his swanky jacket. Still, he's close enough that every muscle in Parker's body is tensed, and her instincts are yelling "This is Wrong!"

She tamps that down.

"What the hell is going on?" she says, instead - a valid question. Not-Eliot turns, facing her, and doesn't show any recognition. In fact, he seems confused. His eyes are softer than Eliot's. Brighter. One of the smaller scars on his jaw is missing.

"Jake!" Ezekiel greets, as if this Jake hadn't just been talking to him seconds before. He gestures widely and smiles, "This is-"

"Parker," she cuts him off sharply, nearly glaring, "Just Parker."

Not-Eliot sticks his hand out to shake. She regards it with great suspicion before taking it. 

"Jake Stone," he says, uncertainly, "Pleasure."

In the van, Eliot's blood runs cold. He barely hears Parker's skeptical, "Jake Stone?"

 "I'm going in there." He doesn't even register that he's spoken until he's halfway standing again and Hardison is grabbing onto his shirtsleeve to stop him from bolting. This is a terrible idea, going inside, seeing Jake face to face, because there are tours in Iraq and gunshot wounds and _dead people_ between the person Eliot was when he left home and the person he is now. This is –

"Eliot?" Hardison prompts, low and laced with worry. He's never seen Eliot spooked like this, and his mind is conjuring up images of their time hunting Damien Moreau. He sets his jaw. "Eliot, who's Jake Stone?"

Eliot doesn’t think he wants to know what’s written on his face right now, but he doesn’t answer. He knows Hardison has his back. It was a long time coming, but they all fit together seamlessly - one unit, one family. The thought of family leads him back to Jake, standing in front of a confused Parker, and apparently operating on the wrong side of the law.

"He's …" Eliot's bottom lip twitches. Jake is his family, his past, his other half in the truest way Eliot's ever known, someone who got left behind.

"—my brother." Eliot admits, after a stretched-out second, looking cagey. Hardison blinks. Eliot's apprehension, initially mistaken as a reaction to potential danger, is easy to discern now as something entirely different. It's the look of someone who's burned his bridges.

Parker coughs loudly, startling them both. Hardison flies into action.

"Parker, scrap the grift, and get Jake out of the ballroom." Parker is the mastermind. She comes up with the plans, and Eliot and Hardison follow her lead, defer to her judgment. But Parker's not Nate. With only three of them, they all call the shots, and Hardison has the best view of the playing field right now. Parker enacts his call instantly, affecting a tone of urgency and ushering even the reluctant Eve out the door.

Hardison turns next to his computer, typing furiously.

“Two suits, front seat, grab ‘em both,” Hardison commands, this time addressing Eliot, “I’m coming in too.”

Hardison finishes typing just as Eliot tosses the suit back to him, and the whir of his printer starts in lieu of the clack of his keys. Eliot strips off his T-Shirt thoughtlessly, and shrugs on the white button-up. Hardison deliberately looks away. “FBI,” he says, “I’m Special Agent Thomas, you’re Special Agent Ted Crichton.” Hardison slides something into what looks like a wallet and tosses it to Eliot, who flips it open. It’s a badge.

“These’ll get us in the door?” Eliot asks dubiously. Hardison shrugs back. “That and this very fake warrant I just printed out.”

Parker moves Ezekiel's team out of the ballroom without much trouble, widening her eyes as soon as Ezekiel lets slip their target – some bauble she's never heard of called the "Orb of Thesulah". It's easy to make the thing seem important, or even dangerous, and they follow her lead without much trouble. Eve, leader and soldier, darts back into the ballroom and arrives again with a tiny redheaded woman.

"Cassandra," Eve says shortly, "Parker. Thief. Singlehandedly responsible for at least two dozen unsolved crimes."

Parker gives Cassandra a closed-lipped smile, "Allegedly," She amends cheerfully, sticking her hand out. Cassandra frowns, but shakes it.

"Don't stab anyone with a fork in there, Darlin'," Eliot chides, "We're almost there."

He doesn't sound nervous, but Parker knows somehow that he must be, even before he and Hardison turn the last corner into the hallway they're occupying. It's good that they've made it, before someone gets wise to the fact she has no idea what an Orb of Thesulah is.

A second after Eliot and Hardison come into view, both in the plain black "on the cheaper side" suits that they use specifically for posing as law enforcement, Ezekiel's crew seems to simultaneously notice.

Eve is subtle. She tenses, widens her stance, and moves just slightly forward of the others. Cassandra lets out a little gasp, eyes going wide. Ezekiel frowns in confusion, and Jake Stone does nothing. He stands, frozen, arrested.

Then, as if seeing a ghost, he whispers, "Eliot?"

Eliot stops short. He's still a few paces away, but easily within earshot. For one unbroken moment, the world seems to narrow down to two men with the same face, and there isn't twenty-odd years of missed Christmases and lonely birthdays, a different surname, a stint in the army, the guilt of abandoning the first person Eliot ever swore to protect laying between them. There's just ten paces of hotel carpet.

"Jake," Eliot's voice is hoarse and choked. His hands hang empty at his sides. There is no one else in the _world_.

Jake shakes his head, "No."

Eliot swallows.

"You're dead," Jake whispers.

Eliot says nothing.

 "We got a flag."

Eliot clenches his jaw.

 "I have your _dog_ _tags_ ," Jake insists, shakily, and between one breath and the next there isn't even that ten paces of carpet between them. Eliot's entire body tenses, he braces one foot back, already forcing himself to take whatever punch he's going to receive before Jake – always full of heart, full of love, reluctant to hurt even the spiders under the bed – hugs him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Megasonicteenagedwarhead on tumblr


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